Bound to Memory
by Neville's Girl
Summary: This story attempts to fill in the blanks that Tolkien left in the story of Arwen and Aragorn in Appendix A of ROTK. Chapter 8 -- ever wondered just why Arwen is such so aloof? Yeah, me too ...
1. Default Chapter

A/N: Of course I don't own any of these characters. They're too cool. I'm glad that I can play with them, though. So yeah, no one sue me, 'cause if you do, all you'll get is a pile of student loan debt. Hah! Anyway. This is my spin on what happens to Arwen after Aragorn dies. Tolkien was so fuzzy, I thought that I should step in and fill in the blanks. The story begins with Aragorn talking to Arwen on his deathbed:  
  
"I speak no comfort to you, for there is no comfort for such pain within the circles of the world. The uttermost choice is before you: to repent and go to the Havens and bear away into the West the memory of our days together that shall there be evergreen but never more than memory; or else abide the Doom of Men."  
  
"Nay, dear lord," she said, "that choice is long over. There is now no ship that would bear me hence, and I must indeed abide the Doom of Men, whether I will or I nill: the loss and the silence. But I say to you, King of the Númenoreans, not till now have I understood the tale of your people and their fall. As wicked fools I scorned them, but I pity them at last. For if this is indeed, as the Eldar say, the Gift of the One to Men, it is bitter to receive."  
  
"So it seems," he said. "But let us not be overthrown at the final test, who of old renounced the Shadow and the Ring. In sorrow we must go, but not in despair. Behold! We are not bound forever to the circles of the world, and beyond them is more than memory. Farewell!"  
  
"Estel! Estel!" she cried, and with that, even as he took her hand and kissed it, he fell into sleep.  
  
-- Return of the King, appendix A  
  
She clung to his hand long after he fell into sleep, her silent tears wetting the skin already cooling in her grasp. Her tears were the only sign of her grief. She composedly looked at his face for a long time, watching the sunlight play across the stilled features. Death had smoothed away the lines of weariness and responsibility, and he looked almost young again. She sighed, thinking that the 120 years they had been married had passed in a heartbeat. Looking at his profile, she could almost fool herself into thinking that they were together again in Lothlórien, with all their lives and love before them, and he was but taking a rest from his labors. She eased into the fancy, allowing joyful memories to wash over her and ease the grief. The silver hair fanned against the pillow suddenly gleamed in the sun, catching her eye and reminding her of where she was. "Oh, Estel," she murmured, using the Elven name of his childhood, and the name that she had first met him and loved him under. It meant 'hope', and it seemed a cruel mockery to her now. What hope could she look for at this time? Her fantasy crumbled to dust, and she bowed her head.  
  
When Eldarion, their son, came into the chamber to lead her away hours later, the guards reported to him that the room had been silent since the King had passed away. Eldarion nodded, and strode into the room and laid a hand on his mother's shoulder. She didn't move, just continued to gaze at the King as if trying to imprint his features on her memory.  
  
"Mother," Eldarion said quietly. "You must come away now. They have to prepare his body for the funeral on the morrow."  
  
Arwen flinched as if he'd struck her. She looked up at her son with anguished eyes, but said nothing. Tracks of tears were still visible on her cheeks, but her eyes were now painfully dry. She looked back down at her husband, and nodded slowly. She carefully laid his hand back on the palfrey and turned to her son.  
  
Eldarion led her out of the chamber and to her room. "Will you take supper with me, Mother?" he asked.  
  
Arwen shook her head. "Nay, my son. I find I have no appetite," she added with a hint of grim humor.  
  
"You must eat, Mother," Eldarion insisted. "If you will not dine with me, I'll have a tray sent up to you."  
  
Arwen looked at her son. His jaw was set determinedly, his gray eyes looked at her with a combination of sorrow and pity. He looks so like his father, she thought absently. The thought of Aragorn was a dangerous one, though, so she ruthlessly suppressed it, forcing herself to shrug and say mildly, "Whatever you wish, Eldarion."  
  
He looked as if he would like to argue more, but after looking at her a moment, he gathered her up in his arms and nestled his black head in the crook of her shoulder, just as he had when he was a small boy. The act broke the fragile control that she had gained over her emotions. She gently rubbed his back, tracing comforting circles just as she had done countless times before when he came to her with his hurts. Grief overcame her heart again, and her tears fell on his head. He drew his arms tighter about her, and they both began sobbing in the doorway of her room, caring not if anyone saw them thus.  
  
After their tears were spent, Eldarion gently wiped away her tears with the pad of his thumb and tenderly kissed her cheek. "Thank you, Mother," he whispered.  
  
She watched him walk down the hallway, his young shoulders still broad and straight, unbowed even with this great sorrow. Suddenly, she felt old. Eldarion was in the prime of his life – the grief, while great, would not prostrate him. His heart would heal, and he would go on to rule his people wisely and well. She, on the other hand, felt like nothing would ever be right again. She sighed, and went into the room and shut the door. She gazed around the room. Moonlight poured in the window, illuminating Aragorn's side of the bed with cruel brightness. The imprint of his head was still on his pillow. Tears welled up again, despite the fact that she thought she had no more. She wiped them away with bruising force, angry that she behaving like a lost child, and not the regal queen that she was.  
  
"Aragorn would not approve," she murmured to herself. "He wouldn't want me to be like this."  
  
But despite what her head said, her heart told her that she wouldn't recover from this blow. She felt unutterably exhausted. The tears were cold on her cheeks, and she shivered. She sat in the bed, allowing the moonlight to wash over her. Usually, the cool pure light helped her to think, but this grief was too deep. She was numb and tired. So tired.  
  
She allowed herself to fall back onto the pillows. She closed her eyes against the moonlight and fitfully slept, but the bed felt too big. She instinctively turned towards Aragorn's side of the bed and put a hand out to touch him, but her hand met no warm comforting body. Frustrated and lost, she pulled his pillow against her face and was somewhat comforted by the faint scent of his aftershave. She breathed deeply and fell into a deeper, calmer sleep.  
  
A/N: So … what do you think? Should I continue? Do you even want me to? So please, just click that little box and tell me if I should spare you or not. 


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Well, since everyone who reviewed asked so nicely, here's chapter 2. I'm still not quite sure how to write this, so I'll be just as surprised as you all with what happens in here. Anyway, I still don't own any of Tolkien's characters, but I guess I do own Ëoneth, poor girl. On with the melodrama!  
  
  
  
Arwen was roused the next morning by a soft feminine voice saying, "Milady, come, wake up!" She groaned, but complied by opening her eyes. Her young, fresh-faced maid was standing over her, a mixture of love and pity on her face. "How do you feel, milady?" she asked tenderly.  
  
Arwen gazed up at the girl with an unnervingly cold stare. "How do you think I feel, Ëoneth? My husband is dead," she said flatly.  
  
"I'm – I'm s-s-sorry, milady. I didn't mean –" Ëoneth stuttered.  
  
Arwen sighed and got out of bed. "I know you didn't, Ëoneth. I'm sorry I spoke so harshly. Will you pick something out for me to wear today?" she asked, a little twinge of guilt spurring her to try to make amends for her temper.  
  
She was rewarded by the girl's face lighting up as if she had just received a present. "Oh, yes, milady!" she breathed, and rushed into Arwen's closet to choose something.  
  
Arwen stood for a moment in the middle of the room, staring absentmindedly after the maid. A sudden shiver brought her back to earth, and she realized that she was cold. Her vanity stand was in a large patch of sunlight, so she decided to try and let the sun warm her. She sat down, and tried to empty her mind of all but the sensation of the light warming her flesh, but images of yesterday's sunlight playing on Aragorn's stilled features kept intruding.  
  
Sighing with annoyance, she opened her eyes and caught her reflection in the mirror. She noticed, for the first time, that there was a liberal amount of silver in the still-smooth black hair. And her skin, while yet soft, had many wrinkles that she had never seen before. She wondered if they had been there before Aragorn's death, or if they had appeared overnight. She would not have been surprised. "The Evenstar is setting," she said quietly, tilting her head to watch the silver gleam in the sun. Her eyes no longer shown with an inner light, and were instead as flatly gray as the winter sky. The purple shadows under them, a combination of sorrow and her late night, were the only smudges of color on her pale, drawn face. Her reverie was interrupted by Ëoneth bustling back into the room, her arms loaded with the black fabric of a mourning dress.  
  
She turned, and seeing the maid's burden, shook her head. "No. I will not wear black."  
  
"But milady," Ëoneth protested. "It's tradition!"  
  
"I shall wear the gray dress," Arwen said firmly.  
  
Ëoneth nodded, wide-eyed, and went to fetch the dress. She silently helped Arwen slip into it, and surveyed the result. She was still mildly displeased that Arwen wouldn't wear black, but she generously said, "You look well, milady."  
  
"I care not," Arwen snapped, her eyes flashing to life momentarily.  
  
The maid's eyes filled with tears.  
  
Arwen sighed, wearily slumping her shoulders. "I'm sorry, Ëoneth. You may leave."  
  
"But your hair, milady," she feebly protested.  
  
"I'm wearing it down."  
  
"Y-yes, milady," she said, bobbing a quick curtsy and almost fleeing out of the room.  
  
Arwen looked after her for a moment, then picked up the hair brush and began to mechanically run it through her hair.  
  
A few minutes later, Eldarion entered, resplendent in his black mourning clothes. "Quite the report I got from the maid this morning, Mother," he said carefully, sitting in a chair next to hers. "You refuse to wear black or put your hair up."  
  
Arwen laid the brush back on the table and turned to look at her son. "You know I don't believe in wearing black for mourning. Gray is a much more suitable color. It is the color that combines light and dark. It remembers the joys, while being tinged with the sorrows. As for my hair, I just didn't feel like putting it up. I need a curtain between me and the world if I am ever to get through the day."  
  
Eldarion shook his head sorrowfully at his mother. He thought she had never looked so lovely, or so tragic. She was wearing no ornamentation, only a belt wrought of mithril in a pattern of silver leaves. Her pain had seemed to burn away all emotion during the night, leaving a lovely, if cold, shadow of her former vibrant self.  
  
She abruptly stood. "Come, my son," she commanded.  
  
He stood as well, and threading her arm through his, led her out of the room and to the Citadel, where Fen Hollin was thrown wide open for the funeral. Thousands of mourners from various races of Middle Earth had gathered. Some were openly weeping, others stood with their heads bowed in mute anguish. Arwen tilted her chin higher and fought against the lump forming in her throat. Eldarion squeezed her hand comfortingly.  
  
Passing through the subdued crowds, they made their way to the dais where Aragorn's body lay in state. Arwen stood before him and gazed on him for the last time. His hands lay folded across his chest, and clasped in one hand was a branch of the White Tree that he had planted early in his kingship. The Elfstone that she had given him long ago in Rivendell glowed with a faint green radiance on his chest. At his side was strapped Anduril, the Flame of the West. As she looked down at him in his funereal splendor, she felt oddly torn between throwing herself on his prone body and sobbing like a child or running as far away from him as fast as she could. Before she could make up her mind, though, Eldarion gently led her to her seat.  
  
  
  
Amongst the crowd of mourners there stood one who neither openly wept nor hung his head in sorrow. His grief was far too deep for that. He was Legolas, a Prince of the Mirkwood, and a companion of Aragorn on his journeys. Standing stiffly by his side was Gimli, son of Glóin, who stared straight ahead, looking at nothing, while the tears coursed down his bearded cheeks.  
  
Legolas watched Arwen intently. He had not seen her since her wedding a century before, and he was shocked to see silver hair in her long black tresses and wrinkles furrowing the smoothness of her skin. He had always known in the back of his mind that when she gave up her immortality she gave up her eternal youth, but seeing the result of her decision was disturbing. She was the Evenstar of her people, and to watch the Evenstar fade into the twilight of Men was not something Legolas had thought of when he decided to attend his old friend's funeral.  
  
His musings were forgotten when the funeral began. It was a heart- rending ceremony, and during Eldarion's speech, he felt tears sting his eyes. The son was so like his father, it was almost painful to watch.  
  
After Eldarion's words, an unseen Elvish choir began singing an ethereal song of lament as the people filed out of the hall. Legolas watched Arwen pass him, head held regally high, looking neither to the left nor right, trying to maintain rigid control. He felt an urge to take her in his arms and comfort her, but he knew he could not. He went back to his chambers to grieve in private.  
  
A few hours later, there was a quiet knock on his door, and a summons by the new King of Gondor to meet him immediately. Legolas was perplexed, but obeyed immediately.  
  
He made his way down to the throne room and entered. Eldarion stood at one end, staring out the window. He turned to see who had entered. Legolas could see the tracks of his tears glinting in the sunlight, but said nothing but, "You wished to see me, Your Majesty?"  
  
Eldarion nodded. "You know my mother, don't you, Legolas?"  
  
Legolas nodded slowly, unsure of what to say or where the conversation was going. "Yes, sire. I know her well."  
  
"My father said you used to play together as children."  
  
"Yes, we did. My father was King of Mirkwood, and Elrond was Lord of Rivendell. It was natural that we would often see each other," he answered. "If I may ask, why do you want to know?"  
  
"Then you know how stubborn my mother is," Eldarion said, frustration making him pace back and forth.  
  
A small smile quirked the corners of Legolas's mouth as he remembered a few choice occasions. "I do indeed."  
  
"She is determined to go away from Gondor," Eldarion said bluntly, stopping in his tracks to pin the Elf under his gaze.  
  
Legolas frowned. "Where is she going?"  
  
Eldarion began pacing again. "She said she doesn't know!" he said anxiously. "And neither I nor any of my siblings can persuade her to stay."  
  
"She knows where she is going," Legolas said quietly.  
  
"How do you know?" asked Eldarion, stopping again.  
  
"Arwen always has a plan," he said simply.  
  
Eldarion sighed in exasperation and ran a hand through his hair. "I don't know what to do, Legolas!" he said.  
  
"I will follow her," Legolas heard himself say. He was surprised, but didn't take the words back, especially seeing the intense look of relief on Eldarion's face.  
  
"Thank you, Legolas. She said that she is going to leave tonight after sunset."  
  
Legolas bowed. "I will do my best to protect her, Your Majesty."  
  
As he walked away, he wondered what in the name of Elbereth had come over him. He hoped he wouldn't regret his decision, but he had a suspicion he might before the journey was over.  
  
A/N: Sooo, Legolas just decided to pop into my fic. He seems to have a way of doing that with LOTR fics. And even more annoying, he has a past with Arwen. How much of a past, I don't know yet. It just bothers me that he jumps into just about every fic. Pointy-eared git. *sigh* Anyway, pleeeease let me know what you think. Should I keep going, or just shelve this and let it fade into obscurity right next to the Celeborn/Haldir fics? *grin* 


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Thank you for all the lovely reviews! They help to ease my insecurities about writing this fic. And to answer Wingleader's comment: I didn't really forget about Merry and Pippin, but I had always assumed that they brought their bodies in with Aragorn's *after* the funeral. I can't really imagine people coming up to pay their respects to the King, and tripping over the hobbits in the process. Anyway … on with the story!  
  
  
  
Legolas was in the midst of packing when Gimli walked in. "What are you doing?" the dwarf asked.  
  
Legolas turned and a hint of a smile glinted in his eyes. "Packing, obviously."  
  
Gimli harrumphed. "That I can see. But why? I thought we were planning on staying in Gondor for a fortnight at the least."  
  
Legolas sighed. "I know. And *you* are. I have something I have to do."  
  
Gimi raised his eyebrows. "Oh, really? What could possibly be so important that you must leave two days after your arrival?"  
  
Legolas looked down at his friend for a moment. "I have to escort Queen Arwen somewhere," he said quietly.  
  
Gimli gazed at him in disbelief. "You won't tell me where you're escorting her?"  
  
Legolas smiled. "I cannot. She told the king that she was leaving, and since he was at his wit's end, I volunteered."  
  
"Was that wise?" Gimli asked skeptically.  
  
Legolas shrugged and stuffed another tunic in his saddlebag. "Probably not, but there are few options."  
  
"I'll go with you," Gimli said.  
  
"That will not be necessary," Legolas said firmly.  
  
"Oho! Like that, is it?" Gimli smiled knowingly.  
  
Legolas shook his head. "Of course not! But I don't really see the need of you coming along as well. I cannot imagine this trip taking more than a couple of days. So when I come back, you can introduce me to that hobbit pipe-weed that you've been threatening me with for years."  
  
Gimli brightened. "You mean you're going to learn how to smoke?"  
  
Legolas shrugged. "Who knows? I survived the caves you insisted we see together."  
  
Gimli threw his head back and laughed. "You *survived* seeing the most marvelous caves in Middle Earth?!? Come, my friend," he said, leading Legolas out of the room, "your lies have made me hungry."  
  
Legolas realized as they made their way down to the dining hall that it was nearly dinner time. As he and Gimli took their seats, he scanned the crowd for Arwen. He found her finally, sitting quietly by herself, talking to no one, picking idly at her food. As if sensing his worried gaze, she looked up quickly, and their eyes met. She looked away hastily and fixed her attention back on her plate. He shook his head regretfully. This was going to be a difficult journey, wherever it went.  
  
  
  
Arwen left the table as soon as was seemly and rushed back to her room. Grabbing her bag and wrapping herself in a warm cloak, she hastened down to the courtyard, where her horse was saddled and waiting. She noticed that the man holding her horse was not her usual short, stocky groom. This person was tall and slender. He was wearing a long dark green cloak, and a hood hid his face from her scrutiny. There was also another horse fitted for a journey there, calmly chomping on the grass by the fountain. Arwen felt a stab of fear. "I do not know if you were aware, but I have need of only one horse tonight," she said, smoothly mounting and looking down at the groom. She subtly laid her hand on her belt, where a dagger was hidden.  
  
"Aye, milady," the hooded man said. "The second horse is for me," he added, pulling the hood to his shoulders.  
  
"Legolas," she sighed. "I should have known Eldarion would do something like this."  
  
"It was my idea, actually," he admitted, mounting his horse and bringing it next to hers. "He said that you were about to embark on a foolhardy journey, and you were not listening to any of the sense that he or his siblings was trying to give you."  
  
"He said that?" she asked indignantly.  
  
He grinned. "Not quite. I read between the lines of what was said."  
  
"Sometimes you read what is not there," she said curtly.  
  
"Oh, really?" Legolas asked, likewise mounting his horse. "Tell me, Undómiel, where did I read amiss? Is leaving your friends and family mere hours after you've buried your husband to go off into the blue not foolhardy? Or perhaps you mean that 'foolhardy' is not a strong enough word. Would 'harebrained' suit you better?"  
  
Arwen's eyes narrowed. She opened her mouth to retort, but apparently thought better of it, and instead tossed her head and spurred her horse. Legolas followed her in silence out of the city.  
  
Hours later, they were still riding, Arwen in front, head held high, Legolas behind, contemplating what to do. Finally, with an exasperated sigh, he urged his horse until he was at Arwen's side. "Arwen, we cannot travel like this any longer," he stated flatly.  
  
Arwen looked over at him. "If you do not like it, you have my permission to go back to Minas Tirith."  
  
Legolas tried not to grit his teeth as he answered, "That is not what I meant. Where are we going?"  
  
"Why should I tell you? I did not request your company, nor do I wish it."  
  
"You should tell me, for your own sake. If I know where we are going, I can better protect both of us," he said with exaggerated patience.  
  
She looked at him for a long moment, then quietly said, "Lorien."  
  
He raised an eyebrow. "No one dwells there now."  
  
"I know that," she said sharply. "Just because I am old does not mean I am witless."  
  
Legolas bowed as much as he could while riding a horse. "My apologies, milady," he said humbly.  
  
Arwen urged her horse forward in reply, leaving Legolas behind, shaking his head in confusion.  
  
  
  
They traveled on until the sun was high in the sky. Legolas looked worriedly at Arwen. She was still riding with her head held high, but he suspected that she was putting on some sort of an act. She had not eaten for better than 18 hours, and they had only stopped once to water the horses. He was debating how best to make her halt when they came to a fair- sized stream. He took advantage of the pause to grab the reins of Arwen's horse.  
  
"What are you doing?" she asked. "Release my horse!"  
  
"Not until you dismount," he said firmly. "You haven't eaten or slept for longer than is good for you."  
  
"I can continue," she said, tilting her chin mutinously.  
  
"No, you cannot," he said stubbornly. "What are you thinking of? Are you trying to kill yourself?"  
  
She said nothing and refused to meet his eyes.  
  
"Are you?" he insisted.  
  
"Of course not," she said softly, still avoiding his gaze.  
  
"Then dismount," Legolas said.  
  
Arwen sighed, and dismounted. She grabbed her saddlebags and led her horse to the stream. Legolas did likewise. Making sure the horses were cared for, he turned and made himself comfortable under a nearby beech tree. Arwen awkwardly stood looking down at him.  
  
"Come. Sit," he invited. She reluctantly did so.  
  
"What sort of provisions did you pack?" he asked conversationally.  
  
"Oh, boiled vegetables, mostly. That is all that is fit for such an *elderly* woman as myself," she said with sudden fury.  
  
"I never said you were old!" he exclaimed.  
  
"Yes, you did," she insisted. "You said I could not continue without food and sleep. When I was young, I could have gone twice this distance without stopping." Despite her best attempts, tears welled up. It did nothing to improve her temper.  
  
Legolas was astonished. "I would have made the same suggestion to any mortal, regardless of age."  
  
"But you have to be especially careful with an old woman, right?" she retorted. "Treat the Queen with kid gloves; she's on her last legs."  
  
Legolas chuckled. "I hardly think you are on your 'last legs', as you put it. I merely think you are being foolhardy again."  
  
"Foolhardy!" she said explosively, rocketing to her feet. "Foolhardy!" She strode over to her horse, re-attached the saddlebags, and mounted. Not bothering to look back, she forded the stream and was shortly lost to sight among the trees on the other side.  
  
Legolas muttered darkly under his breath as he mounted his own horse and followed after Arwen. Twilight was gathering as he realized that she still had had nothing to eat. He decided that silence was the best policy, and he followed her at a respectful distance, allowing his thoughts to wander where they would.  
  
Invariably, they would turn to Arwen, and their childhood together. He thought of the time Arwen insisted on learning archery alongside her playmate Legolas. Elrond had been reluctant, but finally gave permission. Things were going along well until the pair had decided that their skills had improved so much that they could hit anything. They enlisted a younger Elf to stand in front of their archery target with an apple on his head. Elrond appeared just in time to stop the disaster.  
  
Legolas was still smiling faintly when a faint thump jarred him out of his memory. He looked ahead and saw Arwen's horse in the gathering dusk, but no Arwen. Fear gripped his heart, and he urged his horse forward sharply. A few yards ahead lay Arwen crumpled on the ground, unconscious.  
  
  
  
A/N: Oh, an evil cliffie! Bwahahahaha! I'll ease your misery soon. Maybe. 


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Thank you to everyone who's been reading! I still don't own any of these characters. I'm sorry if there are any typos, but I don't have time to check this before I go off to school. Hmm… maybe I should get a beta or something. Oh well. Enjoy!  
  
  
  
Legolas dismounted and was at her side in a moment. He carefully turned her over and noticed with relief that she was breathing regularly. He gingerly checked her for broken bones, but could find none. She had apparently just passed out from a combination of exhaustion and hunger. He shook his head in wonder at her stubbornness and gazed down at the companion of his childhood. This was the first time he could do such a thing with arousing her suspicions and making her antagonistic.  
  
He noticed that time had been relatively kind to her. Her hair was still mostly black, and the silver merely accented the dark lustrous sheen of the rest, like stars in the night sky. He grimaced at the lame metaphor, but continued his scrutiny.  
  
She still had the same graceful bone structure, with high cheekbones and a delicately pointed chin. In the dim light of the falling dusk, Legolas could almost fool himself into thinking that she was the same Undómiel that he had hopelessly fallen in love with those many years ago in Rivendell. He had never told anyone, of course. It would not have done any good. He knew that her fate did not lie in his keeping, and he thought that he had come to terms with that long ago. But sitting in an obscure forest at dusk with the woman he had loved in his arms, he wondered if he had made the right decision. Had her fate already been written, or had that just been a convenient excuse to cover up his fears? He sighed. It did not matter now. All he had to do for the moment was keep her safe.  
  
Gently laying her back on the grass, he went over to the horses, grabbed her bedroll, and made her comfortable. Once that was accomplished, he set up camp and began to prepare supper.  
  
  
  
Arwen awoke some time later to the rich meaty smell of hot stew. She woozily sat up, clutching her head, and croaked, "What happened?"  
  
Legolas looked up from tending the fire and smiled gently. "You fainted from exhaustion and hunger, Undómiel."  
  
She groaned. "You are going to say 'I told you so', aren't you?"  
  
The smile broadened into a grin, but he shook his head. "Me, Your Majesty? I have never felt the need to state the obvious."  
  
Arwen smiled despite herself. "You are so obnoxious. I had hoped that you would have grown out of it by now, but I see that is not the case."  
  
He spooned some stew into a bowl and brought it to her side. "Obnoxious, maybe. But conscientious. Here."  
  
Arwen accepted the steaming bowl, and sniffed appreciatively. She took a careful mouthful, and exclaimed, "Why, it is wonderful!"  
  
Legolas quirked his mouth in amusement. "Try not to sound so surprised. I have many talents that don't include using a bow."  
  
"But you are a prince!" she said around a mouthful.  
  
He shrugged. "I'm not often in Mirkwood, and my royal parade of servants refuses to follow me on my travels, so I had to adapt."  
  
Arwen nodded, digesting this new information, and then asked, "What day is it?"  
  
"You fainted two days ago," he replied, dishing up some stew for himself and sitting down next to her.  
  
"Two days?" she asked in disbelief.  
  
"Aye. I woke you a few times to drink, but you always went back to sleep. I suppose I could have roused you to continue our journey, but I had not the heart. I doubted that you had been getting enough sleep of late."  
  
Arwen's smile was tinged with sadness. "You could say that," she said wryly.  
  
He looked searchingly into her face. The firelight cast a warm yellow radiance on her pale face, making it seem to glow from within. "You do not have to continue with this journey," he said quietly.  
  
Arwen shook her head firmly. "I must continue."  
  
Legolas felt anger well up in his heart, hot and caustic. "It will be the death of you," he taunted. "And for what? To fulfill fate?" As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he regretted them.  
  
Arwen's eyes closed, and she seemed to shrink into herself. "Do not mock what you do not understand, Legolas," she said wearily.  
  
"*Make* me understand, Undómiel!" he demanded. "Make me understand why you married Aragorn and forsook your immortality!"  
  
Arwen opened her eyes, and they were as hard and sparkling as mithril. "Can you not believe that I would do so great a thing for love? Or have you never loved so much that you would do anything to be happy?"  
  
Legolas felt like his heart was going to burst through his chest from trying to contain himself. "Perhaps," he suggested tightly, "I have a different definition of love. I always thought that love came with responsibilities, both to oneself and the other person. And if that love was not meant to be, one has to let it go."  
  
Arwen looked at him curiously, and was about asked who he had loved so hopelessly, when she changed her mind and instead asked, "But what if it was fate?"  
  
He looked at her, one eyebrow raised ironically. "Do you believe that you inherited Lúthien's fate along with her beauty? In that case, Lady, your logic is faulty, for Aragorn looked nothing like Beren."  
  
She laughed for the first time since Aragorn's death. "Aye, that's true enough," she agreed. Then she sobered and said, "But if you do not believe in fate, then what you said about responsibility still applies. Aragorn and I were both half-elf, half-human. We had a responsibility to bring the line together."  
  
"But you did not have to give up your immortality to do so!" he said indignantly.  
  
Arwen sighed. "But I loved him, Legolas. I felt that immortality without him would be unendurable, even across the Sea."  
  
"Do you still feel that way?" he probed.  
  
She stared into the fire a long time before answering. "I don't know," she said finally. "As he lay dying, he asked me if I would go over the Sea after his death, and I told him that there was no ship that would do so."  
  
"But that's untrue," Legolas said. "There are still a few ships at the Grey Havens. I am planning on being on one someday."  
  
Hope flashed in Arwen's eyes, but quickly faded. "Nay, Legolas. My choice has long been made, and I am in fact beginning to look forward to death. I am so tired. My father told me before he passed over the Sea that it was not my lot to die until all I gained was lost, and little did I know at the time how difficult that would be."  
  
Legolas's jaw hardened. "Fate has been cruel to you, Undómiel," he said quietly.  
  
"Oh, so *now* you believe in fate?" she teased. The light in her eyes faded as she added seriously, "Do not be sorrowful, Legolas. For if I have lost all I have gained, at least I enjoyed it while it was mine. I do not regret a single day. Well, except when my father stopped us before we could shoot the apple off of Celemaeglor's head," she added mischievously.  
  
Legolas laughed. "Aye, that *was* a pity. Get some more sleep, milady. We will leave at dawn."  
  
Arwen smiled and him. "Good night, Legolas."  
  
He sprawled out on his bedroll and leaned up on his elbow to smile warmly at her. "Good night, Undómiel."  
  
He lay back down and stared at the stars through the leafy canopy of the forest, listening to Arwen's deep, even breathing. The fire died to embers, and the moon made its journey across the sky, but Legolas remained awake, thinking.  
  
  
  
A/N: Oh, the angst! Poor Legolas! Poor Arwen! More later, ya'll! Please review! L&A love them! 


	5. Chapter 5 -- or as I like to call it, a ...

A/N: Hello everyone. Sorry I haven't written in a looong time. It's a long story, but I will say that it involves the fact that I've had a writer's block the size of Mt. Everest, and various stuff came up in my personal life that wasn't exactly great for inspiration. Anyway. This is my feeble attempt to get back on track. I'm sorry it's so short, but I'm almost done with the next chapter. Hopefully, you won't have another 3 week wait.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Legolas continued his vigil even as the sun appeared over the mountains. As the warm rays filtered through the hazy early-morning air, the birds began to sing in a loud and joyful chorus. So loud and joyful, in fact, that they awoke Arwen. He turned when he heard her stir. She noticed him looking at her, and she smiled sleepily and said, "Good morning."  
  
He smiled back and asked, "Are you ready to continue to Lórien? 'Tis but the journey of a day now, so we will be there by sunset."  
  
He thought the information would please her, but instead, her face fell, and her eyes grew sad as she looked off to the north to where Lórien lay. "So soon?" she murmured quietly, as if to herself.  
  
Legolas was puzzled. "What do you mean, 'so soon'? Have you not waited for this moment? Was this not the purpose of your journey?"  
  
Arwen slowly turned to him. "Yes," she replied. "But that does not mean that it was a journey that I wanted to take."  
  
"What do you mean?" Legolas asked, his brow furrowed in confusion.  
  
Arwen sighed. "I am useless, Legolas. The world has stripped me of everything that I labored long for, and it has now gone on without me, like a highwayman robbing a traveler of all his possessions and leaving him in the road. I am left bereft, and have no place in what is to come. Therefore, I go to dwell in the past, for whatever time is left to me."  
  
"And so you go to Lórien, where you and Aragorn fell in love," Legolas said with sudden understanding.  
  
She nodded and turned away to face the north again. "You need not come with me," she said. "If it is but the journey of a day, there is hardly any way I could lose myself."  
  
"I do not think it is wise to leave you," he said anxiously.  
  
Without turning, she said, "Wisdom is a thing of the present, or the future. Neither have a place with me anymore. Besides," she said, turning and smiling at him faintly, "I am weary of being wise. For over three millennia I have been wise and responsible. Before I die, I want to do something unexpected."  
  
Legolas felt his heart tighten, and he swallowed a lump that had formed in his throat. "I agree, Undómiel. Will you not come with me across the Sea?"  
  
Her gray eyes were sad as she answered, "You have no idea how much I want to, Legolas. But I cannot. I have chosen a mortal life."  
  
"You can at least be happy with me at the last!" he said desperately. "Aragorn had you for so long; it is *my* turn now!" As soon as the words were out, he realized what he had let slip, and he closed his eyes, hoping that when he opened them, he would be anywhere else in Middle Earth.  
  
No such luck. He opened his eyes and saw the sadness in Arwen's eyes had deepened. "Oh, Legolas," she sighed, and gently brushed her fingers against his cheek. "My father said that it was merely infatuation."  
  
"He lied," he whispered, unconsciously closing his eyes and leaning into her touch.  
  
Tears started to her eyes. "Why?" she asked.  
  
"For fate," he said, opening his eyes and smiling sadly down at her. "Lord Elrond took me aside and carefully explained the situation."  
  
A/N: Sorry to leave it like this, but the flashback is fairly long, so I'm going to have to post it separately. Keep R/R-ing! 


	6. Chapter 6 -- the flashback (part 1)

A/N: Well, as promised, here is the next chapter, less than 24 hours after I promised it! (Don't get too used to it, though … I was almost done with it when I posted Ch. 5.) It's even nice and long to make up for the fact that chapter 5 was so pathetically short. Thank you to all my reviewers … you are wonderful! (Even if you constantly threaten me with bodily injury if I don't write faster. Luckily, none of you know where I am, so I can sleep at night …) Anyway, this is a flashback that tries to explain what the heck was going on between Legolas, Arwen, and Aragorn. I tried to keep it grounded in the story that's in Appendix A of Lord of the Rings, but with fanfiction, it's so tempting to just let my imagination go. So … this is my imagination (heavily edited). Enjoy!  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
600 years previously, in Rivendell …  
  
The feast celebrating the autumn harvest had ended hours before, and Elrond, Lord of Rivendell, had called for his minstrels to come forth. Dancing and merriment commenced, and amidst all the whirl and gaiety of the dances was Arwen Undómiel, clad in a dress that reminded Legolas of the twilight – it was purple in one light, gray in another, reddish-gold in still another. She wore garland of autumn berries in her hair, and in the light of the candles she shone like the Evenstar that was her namesake. Legolas watched her weave her way through the complicated Elvish dance, fascinated by the change in the companion of his youth. The last time he had seen Arwen, she was riding like the wind on her father's prize stallion and wearing a pair of breeches stolen from one of her brothers.  
  
He smiled to himself and took a drink of Elvish wine as he tried to reconcile the new knowledge that the hellion that he had known was grown into a vivacious being of grace and beauty. She was but newly returned from Lórien, where she had been staying with her mother's kin. At least, that was what Elrond had told Legolas one day when Arwen did not come to the noon meal.  
  
He had been been crushed. Arwen had been his constant companion, and could ride a horse or use a bow almost as well as he. He had private suspicions that Elrond had deliberately separated them, but his studies soon grew more difficult, absorbing more of his attention, and he had less time to think about her. She never totally disappeared from his mind, however, and a flood of strange new emotions swirled through him as he gazed upon her, flushed and laughing with the exertions of the dance.  
  
The music concluded with a grand flourish, and the dancers scattered to find refreshment. Legolas's heart gave an odd leap as he saw Arwen threading her way through the crowd towards him. He watched her expectantly, and their eyes met. For a moment, her face remained blank. After a split second, though, her eyes lit up in recognition. "Legolas!" she exclaimed, smiling with delight. "How splendid!"  
  
Legolas bowed deeply. "Mae govannen, Undómiel," he said. [Well met, Evenstar.]  
  
She grinned at him. "Well, I am at least relieved to know that you have learned some manners in our years apart."  
  
He looked at her with a mock-wounded expression. "I have learned many things during our separation."  
  
Arwen gazed out on the dance floor and gave him a mischievous glance. "Have you learned to dance?" she asked innocently.  
  
He grinned as he held out his hand. "You can only find out one way."  
  
She took his hand, but said archly, "That is not precisely true. I could just evaluate your performance from the safety of the sidelines."  
  
He grinned. "I see that for all the careful instruction you received in Lórien, you did not learn to curb your tongue."  
  
She raised her eyebrows. "I see that my father did not teach you any repartee along with his archery instructions."  
  
"I am but a rustic elf from the Mirkwood, lady," he said humbly bowing, but his eyes twinkling with mischief.  
  
She raised her eyebrows. "Indeed," she said coolly. "We shall see."  
  
He shrugged noncommittally and led her out onto the dance floor. They listened for a moment to the opening bars of the song, and Arwen's eyes sparkled as she recognized it. It was a dance that combined the flowing grace of a waltz with the speed and elaborateness of a swing dance.  
  
They began the dance at the normal pace, but Arwen's natural high spirits and her wish to outstrip Legolas led to the pair doing the steps twice as fast as the other couples. They whirled around the floor, heedless of the disbelieving stares from the other Elves. After a few minutes, though, the accelerated pace was taking its toll. Arwen felt that she was wearing too many layers, and Legolas was silently cursing the fact that his dressy ensemble included no less than three tunics. His uncomfortable state was forgotten when they passed under a torch, and he noticed Arwen's flushed countenance in the light.  
  
"Would you like to slow down?" he asked mischievously. "Your cheeks seem a bit rosier than is usual."  
  
Arwen's eyes widened as she feined innocence. "I do not know what you mean, Legolas. I could dance like this for hours." She looked pointedly at his forehead. "I think that you should sit down, however. I think I see a fine sheen of perspiration on your noble alabaster brow. We should not risk the health of a Prince of the Mirkwood."  
  
Legolas could contain himself no longer. He threw back his head and laughed as he pulled her out of the dance and over to the nearest empty bench. "You win," he said. "You are the better dancer. I need to rest for a bit."  
  
She shook her head as she slumped against the wall. "Nay, Legolas. I was just about ready to collapse as well. It is a draw."  
  
"We were always evenly matched," he said quietly.  
  
Arwen felt her heart constrict painfully as she watched the candlelight glint in his hair and make his skin look like burnished gold.  
  
He looked at her, his eyes unfathomable in the soft light. "I am glad you are back, Undómiel," he said quietly.  
  
For the first time in her life, she was speechless. She felt pinned under his gaze. It was not unpleasant, but there was no telling what might happen. She was not out of control, but she felt like she could be at any second. His eyes seemed to be drawing her out of herself. Then there came a moment when the music and chatter seemed to die away, and it was just them sitting on a bench bathed in golden candlelight. Time was slowing and bearing down on them. They drew closer to each other, and he opened his mouth to speak when a young and rather delicate looking elf maid hesitantly stood before him and asked for the next dance.  
  
The delicate moment shattered. Legolas jerked away as if slapped. Arwen took a deep breath, trying to gain a measure of control.  
  
He glanced at Arwen a split second before he smiled warmly at the girl and led her out onto the floor.  
  
She leaned back against the wall and tried to sort out her roiling emotions as she watched them for awhile. Legolas never even looked over in her direction once. She sighed in frustration. What was the matter with her? She did not *need* Legolas's attention. Did she? Shaking off that dangerous question, she decided that maybe dancing would be the thing to take her mind off of her problems.  
  
Scanning the room, she noticed a handsome youth with shoulder length black hair and gray eyes standing in a quiet corner, watching the revelry with a slightly melancholy air. A slight smile curled her mouth as she recognized the youth as Aragorn, whom she had met earlier in the day. It had been an odd meeting – he had been singing the lay of Beren and Lúthien when they ran into each other. And he had called her Tinúviel, just as Beren had called Lúthien in the song. They talked for a bit – he introduced himself, and told her with pride that he was Lord of the Dúnedain. He was so young, but there was something about him that intrigued her.  
  
Forcibly putting Legolas out of her mind for the time being, she walked over to Aragorn. Pity welled up in her heart as she saw his uncomfortably forced air of nonchalance. He looked terribly out of his depth at a party full of lively Elves.  
  
"Greetings, Aragorn," she said kindly as she sat down on the bench next to him. His double take was almost comical. His eyes were wide with shock as he exclaimed, "Tinúviel!"  
  
"Have you forgotten our meeting so soon?" she teased. "I am Arwen, remember? Be careful of the names you give to people. You have not yet heard me sing," she added, laughing. [A/N: For those of you who don't know, "Tinúviel" means "nightingale".]  
  
The boy blushed and looked away. "I could not easily forget our meeting," he said under his breath.  
  
Arwen heard his words, but chose to ignore them. "Would you care to dance?" she asked lightly, standing up.  
  
Aragorn flew to his feet, face alight with glee. "Of course," he said. He eagerly thrust out his elbow, and Arwen took it.  
  
She was expecting an awkward dance, and was pleasantly surprised that the young Man moved with an almost Elvish grace. He was also an interesting conversationalist, witty but with an intriguing hint of sorrow in the depths of his sea-gray eyes. He was telling her of his youth in Rivendell when his eyes slightly narrowed at something over her shoulder. She turned to see what he was scowling at.  
  
"May I cut in?" Legolas asked smoothly.  
  
"What are you *doing*?" she asked in an angry whisper. It was highly unusual to cut in. Almost rude, even. And Aragorn was a young Man. She did not know what he would do.  
  
Legolas merely stood there and waited, looking at him.  
  
Aragorn was tense and silent as he thoughtfully looked back at Legolas. Gray eyes met blue in a silent test, and just when Arwen felt she could not take another second of the odd tension, Aragorn suddenly raised his eyebrows and grinned as he said, "Of course you may, but I do not know how the lady will feel about it."  
  
Legolas and Arwen both looked at him with puzzled expressions. Playfully shrugging, Aragorn released Arwen and took hold of Legolas and began to lead him through the dance. The tension eased, and several Elves around them began laughing heartily, and a few shouted for Legolas to make his hips sway more, or to throw his chest out a little bit.  
  
Legolas took the ribbing with good nature, but Arwen saw that the tips of his ears were flushed a delicate pink with embarrassment.  
  
After the dance ended, Aragorn led Legolas back to Arwen. "Lady, I thank you for your kindness in allowing me to dance with your graceful partner," he said, mischief dancing in his eyes.  
  
Arwen tried to smother a grin as she inclined her head and replied, "It was a joy to see such a skillful and well-matched pair."  
  
Legolas raised his eyebrow, but said nothing.  
  
Aragorn chuckled. "Tenna' ento lye omenta, Undómiel," he said. [Until next we meet, Evenstar.] He bowed again, then walked away.  
  
She watched him go, mildly impressed with his Elvish farewell. "A youth of many talents," she said thoughtfully.  
  
"Indeed," Legolas said, "And dancing is not the least of them."  
  
Arwen laughed. "Whyever did you decide to cut in?"  
  
He ruefully grinned at her. "Aragorn is my pupil. I am instructing him."  
  
"What does that have to do with me?"  
  
"Aragorn needs to learn that not everything in life comes with ease," he replied. "He Lord Elrond's foster-son, and he asked me to teach Aragorn a measure of control."  
  
Arwen raised her eyebrows. "Archery I could understand, but *you* are teaching him control? You once tied Elladan to a tree because he threw a clump of mud at your head!"  
  
Legolas shrugged. "That little scamp had hidden my bow and arrows, and when I *calmly* confronted him, he threw a clump of mud at me. I obviously could not let such disrespect pass."  
  
"Oh, obviously," she echoed, shaking her head in disbelief.  
  
"At any rate," he continued, changing the subject, "Lord Elrond asked me to give him tests at unexpected times. So far, he has passed with flying colors." He looked over at the Man with a hint of pride.  
  
"And you are willing to sacrifice your pride to teach Aragorn such a difficult lesson?"  
  
He nodded. "I owe Lord Elrond much. He taught me many things. When he asked me to do this, I immediately accepted." He grinned. "I did not think that it would involve me dancing with my pupil, though. I might have reconsidered."  
  
Arwen laughed and impulsively kissed his cheek. "Come, Legolas. If you are recovered enough to dance with Aragorn, then spare some energy for me." She did not look up to see his reaction to her kiss. If she had, she would have seen a new light in his eyes and a soft, faint smile at the corners of his mouth.  
  
A/N: There! Whew! *wipes perspiration off of forehead* That should be enough to make sure that no one comes after me for awhile. If you have any suggestions on where to take this, let me know. I haven't completely mapped this out, and any help would be *much* appreciated. 


	7. Chapter 7 -- the flashback (pt. 2) Warni...

A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who has taken the time to review! You're all great. And special thanks to leiasky for pointing out that my flashback takes place 600 years ago, and strangely enough, Aragorn is alive! Very weird, I'll admit, but in my original draft of the chapter, there was no Aragorn, just Arwen and Legolas. *sigh* Tolkien fanfic is so complicated. So … I'll just have to modify the date a bit and say that this flashback takes place around 160 years ago. Oh, and I haven't said this for awhile, but I own absolutely none of these characters, nor am I making any money off of this. In fact, I'm probably losing money, because I should be studying or doing something similarly school-related. Oh well!  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
  
  
The moon was high in the sky when Elrond stood up and announced that the next dance would be the last. Arwen was relieved – her crown of berries was beginning to wilt and hang in her eyes. She could sympathize with them. The heat generated by the crowd of Elves and the torches made her feel like wilting herself. She cast a longing glance over to the large floor-to- ceiling window. There was a slight breeze rustling the sheer curtains, and the moonlight shining in looked invitingly chill.  
  
Legolas heard Arwen sigh, and saw her wistful glance. When the music began, instead of dancing, he pulled her over to the window and let the cool night air wash over both of them.  
  
Arwen threw back her head and closed her eyes, letting the wind filter threw her night-black tresses. "Diola lle," she whispered. [Thank you.]  
  
"Ta naa seasamin," he replied simply. [It was my pleasure.] "Besides," he added roguishly, "if I had not escorted you over to the window, you might have thrown yourself out of it to escape the heat."  
  
Arwen opened her eyes and grinned up at him. "Did I look that bad?"  
  
Legolas raised an eyebrow and reached over to pluck the drooping berry coronet from her head. "Yes," he said, smiling.  
  
She laughed when she saw the shapeless mass of berries and tendrils in his hands. "I never did know when to quit. I suppose I owe you."  
  
He shook his head. "Nonsense. It would be a fool who would not do the same." As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he regretted them. He sounded like a love-struck fool spouting silly empty gallantries. No matter how earnest the meaning behind them, they inevitably sound stupid. He looked over at Arwen, and noticed with a sinking heart that she was staring at him quizzically.  
  
Arwen did not know how to respond to his comment, so she turned to look out over the trees and rivers of Rivendell. What did he mean by that? she wondered. Eager to change the subject, she asked rather hurriedly, "So what have you been doing with yourself these past years besides learning archery and good manners?"  
  
Legolas was relieved that Arwen decided to let it drop. To further draw her away from something he was not yet willing to reveal, he said in a mock-whisper, "I finally learned to ride a horse." His eyes glinted with mirth.  
  
Arwen laughed. "How many years did it take?" she asked archly, giving him a sideways glance.  
  
He shook his head. "More than I'd like to admit to you," he replied, a wry grin curling the corners of his mouth. It had been a point of contention between them in their youth that Arwen was by far the better rider. Legolas had a difficult time mounting a horse – he just did not see why such a beautiful animal should be forced to carry him. So when he was in situations that required him to ride one, he felt clumsy and ill-at- ease. It took many years and much instruction from Elrond before he was able to fluidly mount his steed and be comfortable upon it.  
  
"I'll bet," she said. Then, after a pause, she added, "Are you doing anything important tomorrow evening?"  
  
"Why?" he asked warily.  
  
"I just thought we could go for a ride together," she replied innocently.  
  
He stared hard at her, trying to see if she was up to anything, but she continued to look calmly at him. Finally, he agreed with a nod of his head.  
  
Arwen smiled. "Excellent."  
  
The dance ended then, and he escorted her out of the hall and up to her chamber. At the threshold, they stopped and turned to face each other, an awkward silence enveloping the moment. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but apparently thought better of it. He looked up at the ceiling and shifted his weight from foot to foot uneasily.  
  
Watching Legolas's performance, Arwen felt torn. Part of her wanted to laugh, but another part wanted to scream in frustration. What was he *doing*? It was clear from his behavior of the evening that he liked her, but *why* was he hanging about if all he was going to do was memorize the ceiling pattern in the hallway?  
  
She decided to go with the third option – putting him out of his misery. In a flash, she stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. "Sleep well, Legolas," she said. He started at the unexpected contact, and stared down at her with wide eyes.  
  
"You are going to need all the rest you can get," she added mischievously, referring to the ride on the morrow.  
  
He laughed. "I would not be so sure of that, Undómiel. I ride without saddle or bridle. I think I can handle a jaunt through Rivendell with your tired and over-domesticated horse."  
  
"Tired? Over-domesticated?!" she echoed with mock-outrage. "Mind your tongue, Master Legolas. As I recall, your first ride lasted about ten seconds, and ended with you sitting in the road, and your horse galloping as fast as he could for the stables. You must forgive me, but they say that first impressions are the most important."  
  
He grinned. "They also say that second meetings ruin first impressions."  
  
For the second time that night, she was speechless. She had never been bested in a battle of wits before. He took advantage of the silence to kiss her hand, wish her a good night, and head to his room.  
  
She stared in wonderment at the doorway where he had been standing. This new Legolas was not the lanky young rascal she had left behind. This Legolas was handsome, witty, and extremely talented, and … well, dangerous. She would have to be more careful. But how wonderful it was to match wits with a worthy opponent! Too many people were in awe of her because of her high birth or her beauty. It made everyone seem a bit … stifling, really. Legolas was like a breath of fresh air. Just be careful, she warned herself again as she drifted off to sleep.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
And so caution dictated the course of their relationship. They went out riding every evening, and they would talk, but she was careful that they talked of nothing but the commonplace. Sometimes, though, even the commonplace is too much.  
  
One day an amazing thing happened. For the first time in 50 years, Elrohir bested Legolas in an archery contest. Even more amazing, Legolas did not seem to care.  
  
"Are you feeling well, Legolas?" Elrohir asked, his brow furrowed.  
  
"Er – yes, I feel quite well, Elrohir," he replied. "Why do you ask?"  
  
Elrohir pointed the tip of his bow in the direction of the target. "I beat you."  
  
Legolas barely glanced at it before saying, "Why, so you did. Well done."  
  
Elrohir sighed. "It must be Arwen."  
  
Legolas's heart lurched, but he forced himself to be calm and not betray anything. "Nonsense," he said firmly. "We both knew the time would come when I would have an off-day." He grinned.  
  
Elrohir rolled his eyes. "You cannot fool me, Legolas. I may be young, but I am older than you, and besides, I have eyes. Eyes that see you paying court to my sister," he added impishly.  
  
"I am not!" he protested.  
  
Elrohir looked at him skeptically, saying nothing.  
  
He sighed. "Is it that obvious?" he asked, looking uncomfortably out at the trees and mountains.  
  
Elrohir laughed and nodded. "Oh, yes. I do not think that my sister objects, however."  
  
"Really?" Legolas asked eagerly.  
  
Elrohir laughed again. "She is still riding with you, is she not? Could you imagine her putting up with something she did not like?"  
  
"I shall go talk to your father immediately," Legolas said, already walking towards Elrond's hall. "Thank you, Elrohir!" he called back over his shoulder.  
  
"I'll just take your bow back for you, then? And your arrows? And I'll take care of the target, while I'm at it," Elrohir called after him. "Impetuous," he muttered under his breath.  
  
  
  
  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
A/N: And there's the next part. Sorry it's so short, especially when you had to wait so long. I really admire those fic writers that can crank 'em out. When summer comes, I'll have more time. Maybe. Anyway, thanks for making it this far. And, as before, if you have suggestions, just hit the little box below and let me know. 


	8. "Never Again ..."

A/N: Okay, I *promise* that this is going to be the last part of the flashback. I realize that this fic was originally supposed to beef up "The Tale of Arwen and Aragorn" in Appendix A, and it will, in the next chapter. Guess I got a little carried away. You've all been pretty patient, though. And as I'm sure you all know, I don't own anyone. Wouldn't that be slavery? Although the thought of a tall handsome Elf waiting on me hand and foot has its appeal …  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Elrond was in his library, several piles of yellowed manuscripts spread before him on the table. Sunlight poured in the closed windows that had been shut to prevent any stray breezes from disturbing the precariously stacked mounds of paper. He sighed and closed his eyes as he leaned back in his chair and let the sunlight wash over him. Going through Rivendell's massive library of lore was a thankless, wearying task. He had to do it, though. Ever since the White Council had met, he had felt vaguely uneasy about the advice Saruman the White had given concerning the One Ring. Saruman had advised the White Council not to look for it, because it was beyond anyone's reach, even Sauron's. After the Council, Elrond had voiced his misgivings to Gandalf, and the pair decided to do a little research on the side. The next morning, Gandalf rode off to Minas Tirith, and Elrond imposed a self-exile in his library, coming out but rarely and only for short periods of time. He knew the chances of him finding any information were small, but it had to be done.  
  
Muscles in his neck and shoulders, tense and achy from the stooped position of peering over manuscripts, began to relax, and he drifted off into a light doze.  
  
He had been asleep only a few minutes when a door opened and a breeze whooshed in, scattering the piles of paper. Elrond did not open his eyes, perhaps out of fear of what he would see. A faint smile did pass across his features when he heard whispered curses over the crinkling of paper.  
  
Without opening his eyes, Elrond said, "Only Elladan or Arwen would be foolish enough to ignore a "Keep Out" sign written in large letters and clearly posted on a closed door."  
  
"It is neither, Lord Elrond," Legolas said nervously.  
  
Elrond opened his eyes in surprise and sat up. "Legolas? What is the matter? Is Arwen all right?"  
  
"Yes, of course!" Legolas said. "But – er – I did want to talk to you about her. Sir," he added uncomfortably.  
  
Elrond gazed around the room. Papers were scattered everywhere. Legolas snatched a couple that were floating lazily down to the floor and put them in front of Elrond.  
  
"Thank you," Elrond said wryly. Those two documents were the only ones on the entire table.  
  
"I am terribly sorry, sir," Legolas said.  
  
Elrond shrugged and looked up at the younger Elf, humor glinting in his eyes. "What was so important about Arwen that made you unable to read a simple sign, Legolas?"  
  
Legolas stood before him, mute with nervousness. He was not expecting Elrond to get to the point quite so quickly. Of course, he was not expecting to destroy Elrond's library, either … "Maybe I should just clean up and come back later," he said.  
  
"Say it, Ascarer," Elrond commanded. [Impetuous one].  
  
Legolas took a deep breath and looked squarely at Elrond. "I am in love with your daughter, and I wish to marry her," he said in a rush.  
  
Elrond leaned back in his chair and gazed meditatively at him. "Have a seat, Legolas," he said, indicating a chair in front of the table.  
  
Legolas seated himself, and said, "I realize that this is rather unexpected …"  
  
"Indeed," Elrond interjected wryly.  
  
" …but I believe that I could make her happy, and I am convinced that she is the only one who could make me so," he finished. He waited, his back ramrod-straight with tension, while Elrond gazed at him, saying nothing.  
  
Finally, he asked, "Legolas, do you know the tale of Beren and Lúthien?"  
  
Legolas nodded. "Of course. You taught it to me yourself."  
  
"Then you are aware that Arwen is one of their few remaining descendents?"  
  
"Yes," Legolas replied. "What does that have to do with me?"  
  
"It has everything to do with you," Elrond said quietly. "You assume that all of Beren and Lúthien's descendents were of Elvish blood, do you not?"  
  
Legolas nodded, impatient to find out what Elrond's point was.  
  
"That is untrue. There is one Man left who can claim descent."  
  
The answer came to Legolas with a shock. "Aragorn …" he whispered.  
  
"Yes," Elrond said. "It is curious that one of the two manuscripts you handed to me was a family tree outlining the descendents of Beren and Lúthien." He pushed the paper to the edge of the table so Legolas could see for himself, but the younger Elf refused to look.  
  
"So they are fated for each other?" he asked bitterly, eyes fixed on Elrond.  
  
"They are," Elrond said wearily.  
  
"I do not believe in fate," Legolas declared.  
  
Elrond sighed. "Nevertheless, it is there, and inexorable as Time."  
  
"But … Arwen does not love Aragorn!" he exclaimed. "Marriages of convenience are so barbaric!"  
  
"It will not be a marriage of convenience, foolish boy. Aragorn is much too young. But you are one of his tutors. Surely you have noticed that he has a way about him. It is merely a matter of time, I think."  
  
Legolas sighed. "I still think it barbaric." A new, even more horrifying though burst into his mind. "Lord Elrond, if Arwen does marry Aragorn, she will have to give up her immortality!"  
  
Elrond nodded. "Yes, Legolas, I am aware of that."  
  
"But she will die! How can you condone that?" he asked hotly.  
  
Elrond's fist slammed down upon the table. "I condone it because I must! Have you heard nothing I have said, Legolas? Arwen and Aragorn will fall in love, and will marry, and my daughter will give up her immortality. There is nothing you or I can do about it but to accept it."  
  
"But I love her!" he exclaimed, frustrated.  
  
"As do I," Elrond said quietly, his fit of temper gone. "And that is why you will not tell Arwen of your love for her."  
  
Legolas shook his head stubbornly.  
  
"You will not," Elrond repeated. "Legolas, the time of Elves is waning, and the dominion of Men is upon is. There are many loose ends to tie up, and Arwen and Aragorn are but two of the smaller strands."  
  
"And so my love for Undómiel must end? Just like that?" he asked indignantly.  
  
"It would be best if it would do so, but knowing you as well as I do, it will not." Seeing Legolas's mutinous look, he added, "Do not defy what you do not fully understand, Legolas. Though Arwen and Aragorn's relationship is but a small matter, it is still a crucial one for the times ahead, one that has its beginnings in the deeps of time."  
  
Legolas sat in moody thought for a few minutes before asking, "And what do I tell Arwen? I am fairly sure that she knows something of my feelings."  
  
"She must know it for nothing more than an infatuation," Elrond said gently.  
  
Legolas flinched and bowed his head. "You ask much, Lord Elrond," he whispered.  
  
"Not any more than I ask of myself," Elrond said heavily.  
  
Legolas could not stay seated any longer. He flew to his feet and looked down at Elrond. "My lord, I must leave. I will do as you ask, but I must go. I will go back to Mirkwood."  
  
Elrond nodded. "That would be best, I think."  
  
"I will leave tomorrow," he said. After sketching a quick bow, he turned on his heel and left.  
  
Elrond watched him go, and after Legolas had shut the door, he buried his face in his hands.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
After dinner, Legolas went directly up to his room and began packing. The setting sun cast reddish-gold beams across his bags, reminding him that it was the time when he usually went out riding with Arwen. He hardened his heart and viciously stuffed another tunic in the bag. He had decided that he would not say good-bye to her, but just quietly leave before she rose in the morning. Arwen, however, had other ideas.  
  
"Packing for a journey, are you?" she asked from the doorway.  
  
Legolas jumped. "For the love of Elbereth, Arwen, don't *do* that!" he said.  
  
Arwen shrugged. "Where are you going in such secrecy?"  
  
"Mirkwood," he replied. He turned his back to her and resumed packing, hoping the rude gesture would anger her just enough so that she would leave.  
  
It had the unfortunate effect of making Arwen think that there was trouble at home, however, for she asked with a hint of worry in her voice, "Is your father well?"  
  
Legolas stopped pretending to pack and realized with a sinking heart that Arwen was not going to make this easy on him. He turned to her, willing his face to be blank, and said in what he hoped was a bored voice, "Oh, yes, my father is perfectly fine. I just grow tired of my sojourn here. There is nothing interesting enough to really keep me here, anyway." He shrugged his shoulders for effect.  
  
His ploy worked. Arwen's eyes flashed dangerously. "Oh, really? And I was not "interesting enough" to be privy to this information? Were you planning on leaving without telling me?"  
  
"I suppose so," he said flatly, struggling to keep his roiling emotions in check. When she made an indignant sound in her throat, he added, "I did not think that it was such a thing of great importance, Arwen. I only go out for a ride with you once a day. I thought of you as a riding companion, nothing more."  
  
With each lie, Arwen's face became a shade paler. By the time he was finished speaking, she was swaying unsteadily on her feet. Before he thought, Legolas reached out and grabbed her elbow to steady her. With a growl, she pushed away his hand and gazed up at him with burning eyes. The color abruptly rushed back to her cheeks as she said, "Do not presume to touch me, Master Legolas!"  
  
He held his hands up in a gesture of peace, and forced himself to say the cruelest thing he could think of. "I am not the one with the problem of presumption, Undómiel. You are in my bedroom, on the eve of my departure, as if you had some sort of claim on me."  
  
Arwen's hands clenched involuntarily, and Legolas wondered if she would strike him. He knew he deserved it, and part of him wanted her to hit him. He deserved it for the horrible hurtful and untruthful things he had to say. He closed his eyes and waited for the blow, but none came. He opened his eyes to see Arwen was just standing there, gazing at him with a heart- rending look of anguish and hurt in her eyes. He noticed that tears were welling up, liquid gold in the light of the setting sun. He knew that pride would keep the tears from falling, though. After a few moments, she said, "But I thought that you … and I …" she trailed off, unable to say more.  
  
She is giving me one last chance to explain myself, he thought. For a moment, the temptation to gather her into his embrace and explain everything was almost overwhelming. Instead, he raised his eyebrows and said, "You? And me?" He laughed a bit. "I'm sorry if you got that impression, Arwen," he added in what he hoped was a careless tone, "but I cannot be tied down right now."  
  
Arwen's eyes widened. "Tied down?" she echoed hollowly.  
  
He shrugged. "Yes," he said.  
  
"In that case, I am *terribly* sorry for the trouble I have been, and I'll leave you to your packing," she spat out, eyes snapping with fury, her color high. Legolas had never seen her look more beautiful. Before he could respond, she whirled around and fled to her chambers. In the quiet sanctuary of her room, she finally allowed the tears to flow as she spent a sleepless night wondering why she had left caution behind and allowed her heart to be so vulnerable. "Never again," she whispered. "Never again."  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
After Arwen left, Legolas sat down heavily in a chair by the window and stared out, replaying horrible encounter with Arwen over and over in head. He had never felt worse about anything he had ever done in his life before. It had felt so wrong, like a betrayal, but Elrond had asked it of him. But what if Elrond was wrong? Perhaps he needlessly ruined two lives over a mere speculation. He hung his head and allowed the waves of self-loathing and anguish to wash over him. He knew that he would never love anyone else, but he knew just as surely that Arwen would come to love Aragorn. Would it be the same love as she had for him, Legolas? For a jealous moment he hated Aragorn, but then realized that he had just about as much choice as Arwen in the matter. He sighed and pondered the possibility of fate.  
  
Some time later, he raised his head and looked out the window at the newly- risen moon, his dark eyes dry but unspeakably bitter. "Never again," he vowed.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
He left a few hours later, before the household staff was awake. Arwen heard his horse whinny quietly on the pavilion, and despite herself, she went to the window to look. He was astride his horse and looking up at her window. Their eyes met, and she thought she saw one side of his mouth curl in a small sad understanding smile just before he wheeled his horse around and rode off into the forest.  
  
She took a deep breath and went in search of her father. There was a soft glow coming from the crack under the library door, and, ignoring the "Keep Out" sign, she opened the door and entered. No mischievous wind followed her in, however. Elrond's papers remained undisturbed. She saw him poring over a book, a lamp throwing a meager glow over the print. He looked up, and smiled sadly when he saw her. "Greetings, daughter," he said.  
  
"Father, do you have a moment?" she asked desperately.  
  
Elrond put the book down on the table and asked, "Need you even ask?"  
  
Arwen sat down in the same chair that Legolas had occupied not 12 hours before. "Father, Legolas has gone back to Mirkwood," she said flatly.  
  
Elrond looked at his daughter closely. She was unusually pale, and her eyes were red as if she had only recently stopped crying, but she was calm and composed as she faced him. "Yes, I know," he said finally.  
  
Arwen's jaw tightened, but she remained calm as she said, "Has he been pondering this decision for awhile?"  
  
Valar forgive me for my lies, Elrond thought. Outwardly, he remained calm as he said, "I believe that he mentioned the plan to me a week or so ago."  
  
"Father, I …" she trailed off and looked at her hands, clenched tightly in her lap.  
  
"Arwen, do you care for Legolas?" he asked gently.  
  
Arwen's eyes flew up to meet his. She laughed harshly as she replied, "I did, or rather, I thought I did, but it is quite obvious that it was not reciprocal."  
  
"Undómiel, time will heal this infatuation …" he began.  
  
"*Don't* call it that!" she demanded, eyes blazing. "It was *not* a mere infatuation!"  
  
"It must have been, at least on Legolas's part," Elrond said calmly.  
  
Arwen flew to her feet and began pacing around the library. Finally, she said, "Father, I must leave."  
  
"Where will you go, my daughter?" She and Legolas are so alike, he thought with a pang. Valar help me if I am making a horrible mistake.  
  
"Lórien," she replied. "And as soon as possible."  
  
Elrond nodded. "It shall be as you ask. Prepare your bags, and I will send Aragorn as an escort."  
  
Arwen nodded her agreement and departed to prepare for her journey.  
  
"And so it begins," Elrond sighed.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
And so it happened that Arwen returned back to Lórien, escorted by Aragorn son of Arathorn. The tale of their love is told elsewhere, how it grew slowly and finally came to fruition after much toil and struggle.  
  
  
  
A/N: And there the flashback ends. Whew! I tried to explain why Arwen was so quiet and aloof in the books, and this is one of the more outlandish explanations. Anyway … Next, we will return to the present day, where Arwen and Legolas have to again decide if they want to be together until the End of Days. Stay tuned, and *please*, R/R! 


End file.
